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I think about this too, the souls of trees and how fractured they must feel. I wrote a narrative a very long time ago about the termite trails in old planks in very old homes. This reminded me of that...must try and dig it out somewhere.

I think about this too, the souls of trees and how fractured they must feel. I wrote a narrative a very long time ago about the termite trails in old planks in very old homes. This reminded me of that...must try and dig it out somewhere.

Hi Hannah, I love this poem. It makes me think of the trees I grew up with, and the tree in the schoolyard, and the hardwood floors or cabinets in apartments I've lived in, and every tree I've walked beneath, or ever held, or wanted to hold in the cup of my hands.

I wrote a piece not too long ago about a tree that sits where my families home once stood, now a parking lot. It spoke to my memories of Mamasita and our coming from Mexico as it still spralls vibrantly. It's who I visit when I wish to drive around my neighborhood for nostalgia sake.

Trees are my favorite non-ambling manifestations of Life, large, strong and always reaching for the heavens. We must respect them if we, the human race, are to survive.

Some wonderful images in this poem, which is also both thought-provoking and moving, when we consider what our homes are made of, how we abandon them without ever quite forgetting them, especially when we grow up in a single place and then go away.